


A Need of the Flesh

by ImagesofBrokenLight



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagesofBrokenLight/pseuds/ImagesofBrokenLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While it was true that, realistically, Zevran could make no claims to the Warden, a part of him considered her to be his. It never occurred to him that she might choose another, and he certainly never expected to feel hurt when she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Need of the Flesh

The Pearl smelt of incense and sweat and sex and, out of all of Ferelden, it was here that reminded Zevran of his beloved Antiva City the most. He stood back and watched his beloved Warden removing the mercenaries with nothing but her sharp tongue and he smiled as the dogs slunk away, just as the Sergeant had wanted. There was a part of him that longed to stay here, in The Pearl, to enjoy its stench, but he knew his Warden would not have it. His naive, bashful Warden, who would blush to the tips of her delicate, tapered ears whenever he shot a smirk her way or complimented her beauty. He turned to leave when he heard a new voice.

“Welcome to The Pearl. I’m Sanga, the proprietor. Have a seat, get comfortable, and tell me what you need.” Zevran paused, recognising an opening spiel used on new clientele. “Every one of my people here is a skilled craftsman, and don’t let anyone tell you different.” Turning, Zevran caught sight of his Warden, still flanked by Sten and Shale, standing in front of the proprietor. He frowned as she took in their group. “You’ll have to go one at a time, I’m afraid. Our rooms aren’t quite big enough to share between so many. But we can discuss that in a moment.” The golem scoffed quite distinctly, but said nothing. Zevran edged closer, looking curiously at his Warden. Her cheeks were flushed but, even from this angle, he saw the steely determination on her face. “So what would you like me to show you? The men or the women? Or some of both, if you prefer.”

Zevran expected her to blush and back away, stammering about how she’d made a mistake, like so many of the times he’d blithely suggested such activity. But, after a moment of embarrassed consideration, he heard a small, timid voice, her voice, request to see the men.

The Warden stood with Sanga in front of a line of men; four human, one dwarf, and one elf. Zevran hung back between the golem and the qunari, wanting to find some snide comment, perhaps to even suggest that she was wasting her coin, but he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. If this was what she wanted, who was he to object? After all, he had given her plenty of opportunities to ask him to bed her, and her request would have been met with an enthusiastic ‘yes’, but, he considered as she studied the line-up, perhaps her affections did not tend towards... He wanted to say ‘elves’, but he caught himself wondering if it was him.

“Follow me.”

Zevran looked up at the words, growled in a heavy Ferelden accent by the lone elf in the line-up. His mouth twitched. Was it wrong that Zevran saw similarities between himself and the escort? Of course, the similarities ended at their race and hair colour, but Zevran caught himself wondering why the Warden, his Warden, would waste forty silver when she could have had him for free.

Once the Warden disappeared through the doors, Sanga turned and looked at the three of them. “And what about the rest of you?

Casting a brief glance up at Sten, Zevran smiled at the women.”I believe we will share a round of your finest while we wait.”

Shale scoffed again, louder than before. “We will not.”

“It is an expression,” Sten said, folding his arms and watching the door.

“Just one then,” Zevran said with a soft sigh, climbing onto the nearest barstool.

The time dragged by as Zevran nursed his drink and his hurt feelings. It was foolish to feel as he did; this he knew. But the hurt was there, no matter how much he chided himself for it. Not that his companions were much help in this situation.

“I do not understand why it has forced this delay.”

“It is a need of the flesh,” Sten said, arms still folded as he stood beside the golem.

“It is disgusting,” Shale moaned. “Surely the Painted Elf could have provided it with such needs and avoided this delay.”

Zevran could feel Sten looking at him over his shoulder, and elected to keep his head down over the piss these Fereldens called ale.

“Indeed,” Sten agreed and, for whatever reason, that just made Zevran feel worse.

After an hour, (only an hour, Zevran moaned to himself) the Warden emerged, a blush creeping into her ears and a small smile on her face.

“I assume it is finished?”

The Warden blushed all the harder and brushed her red hair out of her face, avoiding Shale’s impassive gaze. “Yes, Shale. We can go now.”

Tutting loudly, Shale turned and stomped away. “One fails to see why it simply did not ask the Painted Elf.”

At that, the Warden’s ears turned scarlet and she pressed her hand to her mouth, quickly scurrying away from Zevran to catch up with Shale. Sten glanced down at Zevran and, after a moment’s consideration he shrugged at the impassive qunari, more than a little pleased at his Warden’s reaction to the golem’s bluntness. Perhaps, he mused, there was more to his Warden than met the eye.


End file.
